


Yours

by timeaeus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??????????idk, Biting, Clothed Sex, Frottage, Grinding, Hal being an asshole, Light Masochism, M/M, Masturbation, Pain Kink, Trans Male Character, dirk wants jake to fuck him and then it happens yolo, i feel like im making a really whacky grocery list, is that a tag, lots of that tbh is there jsut like a neck kink bc, okay lets see, super extra gay pining and some man angst, theres like 3 minor instances of it lol, trans!dirk strider, u betcha my pal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeaeus/pseuds/timeaeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s fuckin’ Adonis.</p><p>You want his mouth at your throat, strong arms on either side of you. You want to tangle your limbs together until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. You want to feel his pulse erratic and make him squirm, you want him to steal the rest of your breath away.</p><p>You wanna fuck him so badly.</p><p> </p><p>aka dirk is rly gay and wants that Sweet D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is in some dumb au ive been writing where The Boys are on lotak and shit cool yeah its like mostly canon compliant
> 
> it wasnt supposed to but it got kind of sad at the end bc this ship is just not a happy ship im sorry,,, but its not REALLY sad ok i promise u can read this and it will not leave u feelin gutted. hopefully just like a lil horny and ready 2 give dirk either a pat or a slap on the face amen 
> 
> also: did u kno every dirkjake author since 2012 has used the same website for 20s era slang. i know because i also use it. sorry 2 be a disappointment. ah, applesauce!

Jake English is out to incinerate you.

Your blood burns so hot for him. Your breath comes short, catching in your throat and puffing hotly out your mouth in your efforts to keep it even, and he’s not even doing anything. You’re just watching him sort through shit on the floor of your living room. The lines of his body are softer than yours, but under that he’s rock solid. He doesn’t move as fluidly as you do, but there’s a kind of deliberateness to the way he works. He is not as finely tuned, his body has not been trained for the same kind of quick precision yours has, but that doesn’t mean he is anything less.

In actuality, he’s fuckin’ Adonis.

You want his mouth at your throat, strong arms on either side of you. You want to tangle your limbs together until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. You want to feel his pulse erratic and make him squirm, you want him to steal the rest of your breath away.

You wanna fuck him _badly._

You’ve always wanted him, but there’s something different about having him feet away from you and feeling this kind of slow burn building in your gut. It’s not the general kind of _want_ you harbor for him, that covers a million different emotions, it’s in the moment lust. It’s fire in your veins. It’s _I want to fuck you and I want it now_.

It’s being carefully contained and subdued, thank you very much. You have fucking control over yourself. You just _happen_ to be horny today, it’s not going to kill you.

Jake stops to stretch, raising his arms over his head. His spine curves beautifully, shirt riding up just a little bit. It’s killing you.

You’re supposed to be working too, figuring out how to alchemize shit you need to advance or whatever, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Your shades hide the direction of your eyes, if you remember to keep your head turned away.

He turns towards you and you immediately pretend to get back to work. Right, you’re fixing up one of the many robots you’ve made with experimental alchemized parts. Or something. You’re acutely aware of him walking over.

He leans on the counter, chin propped in one hand, the other clapping your shoulder. “Busy as a bee, I see!”

If it was _anyone_ but him your metaphorical boner would be six feet under.

Instead, his cheeky grin makes your stomach flip and the heat from his hand pulses. “Yeah,” you reply, scrambling for a distraction. You launch into an explanation of your project, trying to keep it in terms he’ll easily grasp, but his breath is distracting you. This is really getting out of hand.

“Well,” he says, leaving your side to grab himself a drink from your fridge. His fingers linger on your arm for a moment. “I don’t think I caught more than a smidgen of what you just said, but it sure looks dandy.” He pops the cap, takes a swig. You want to put your hand on his throat and feel it move when he swallows. He then holds it out to you, offering you a sip presumably because he caught you staring. You take it from him, appreciate the cold even though it’s a soda you don’t even like, and hand it back. Your fingers brush when he takes it.

He leans his back on the counter and rolls his shoulders, sips again. Your fingers twitch, you shift in your seat, you resist the urge to duck out and take a cold shower (or a longer, hotter one). You’ve already spent an hour under the spray today; he might question you. You might give yourself away.

Besides, you’re not going to bow out; you will damn well sit here and suffer like a man. Even as your hips try to squirm.

You find yourself rubbing your lips a lot, worrying fingers between your teeth, rubbing the back of your neck, tapping out various beats on your knee. You try not to stare at his hands and think about them sliding up your thighs, or pressing flat against your chest. You don’t let yourself envision his hair between your fingers. You refuse to imagine the heat of his knee between your legs.

You shuffle your feet, lick your dry lips, think around the throbbing in the pit of your stomach because it’s hard to ignore.

You guess it’s been a bit too long since you got yourself off, maybe, and there could be other factors too… You run through the weeks in your head and, yeah, there’s most likely some hormonal imbalances playing into this. Not that it’s an excuse; nor does it make this any easier.

You just really, really want Jake to grab you by the hips and fuck you senseless. If you told him that he’d probably spontaneously combust and stammer his way to his grave. You don’t know if he’s even (currently) mentally capable of _fucking,_ although he certainly is physically.

You don’t know if you’re capable of the inverse, but you’d rather not consider the implications of that and instead consider what he’d sound like if you made him moan.

Eventually you find you aren’t focusing at all anymore. You slide out of your seat and shuffle to the couch, where you flop over and extend your arms over your head, trying to stretch the arousal out of you. You really might end up taking care of things in the shower today, though that’d really not be optimal it’s probably your only option.

You are closer to Jake now, though. It appears as though neither of you are getting much work done today- you hate to have slow days like this when there’s things to be done, but there’s not _really_ any rush at the moment. He glances up at you and the corner of his mouth turns up.

“Taking a break to admire me, hm?” If only he knew.

“I’m not taking a break from much, honestly.” You sit up, resting your elbows on your knees. He shrugs.

“You’re allowed a lazy day or two.” He smiles at you, dazzling white teeth and perfect arched eyebrows and _god_ you want to take his face in your hands and kiss him silly. His eyes flick from your face and he cocks his head. “You’ve got something on your neck, there.” You tilt your head and clap your hand to the side of your neck, raising an eyebrow in question. He shakes his head and scoots forward- oh boy, it’s your lucky day- and reaches up and-

He just, straight up touches your neck without warning. Your hand drops automatically for him, but you still weren’t expecting it. His fingertips, electric on your skin, trace some horizontal line for a moment. His thumb gently pushes under your jaw, tilting your chin up a little. Your pulse spikes under his fingers.  

Your first instinct is to flinch, and when you don’t allow yourself to do that you tense up. You’re fucking anal about people touching your neck, but of course you’d make an exception for him in a heartbeat, but he’s just. He just. Fucking.

“Oh, it’s ink. You must’ve nicked yourself with your pen.”

Your breath comes out as a squeak. Your composure and your pride simultaneously take a hit.

Jake blinks, then drops his hand- not without momentarily trailing heat over your throat first, of course. He’s trying to kill you. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “...Sorry, not sure what came over me and made me think it was a good idea to grab at you up and out of the blue like that.”

That might be an issue any other day, but that’s really not what the problem is here. Your skin still tingles. Your mouth hangs open and you have to remind yourself to close, swallow, don’t bite your lip.

“It’s fine. Caught me off guard, is all.”

Your voice is much too tight.

Jake looks at you for a long moment, blinks, leans in. What the fuck. Just fuck you up. Please. Please fuck you up.

“Your face is looking a little rosy there, bud. You feeling alright?”

No, no you are not feeling alright. You want to slide off the couch, straddle him, and make out with him until he can’t breathe. You want his mouth hot on your throat. You want to grind on his cock and make him moan. You want to make him feel the heat coursing through your bloodstream.

“I’m fuckin’ spectacular. Thanks for asking.”

You end up surviving- as long as you don’t think about what his palm would’ve felt like against the column of your throat, his thumb on your adam’s apple, your pulse thumping full throttle. Your arousal comes in waves, on and off, some little thing kindling the fire every so often. You push it down, ignore it, work around it until it subdues again and you forget about it.

Okay, you reason with yourself, arousal is predominantly mental, so either pretend he doesn’t exist (impossible, even for you) or find a way to seem as unattractive as possible. With someone like Jake that really should _not_ be so difficult. _Hot socks, Dirk, aren’t you a scoundrel. What do you say we get a wiggle on?_ Imagining him saying that while straddling your lap doesn’t do anything but make you want to shut him up with your tongue.  

It’s a weird goddamn day.

You discover you might have a chance to put things to rest when it _finally_ starts getting late. Jake gets sleepy long before you do and is out like a light. You can just stay out here, wait for him to certainly be asleep, and then you’ll have enough time to do something constructive with the tingling heat that’s been eating you all day.

Waiting for him to turn in tests your normally iron patience. You can’t help but keep acute tabs on how many times he yawns, rubs his eyes as it gets later. You don’t have the sun to tell your brain when it’s time to start producing melatonin, so both your sleep schedules have gone a little haywire (though yours has always been jacked to hell and back). Your clocks work though, and it’s nearly eleven.

Any other time you would love that he tries to stay up so he can be in your company longer, but at this point there’s a low throbbing settling in between your legs. If you didn’t know better you’d swear he put some sort of aphrodisiac in your breakfast. Maybe he just diffuses something into the air, oblivious as ever. Fuckin’ attractive freak of nature.

Yeah, okay. It’s officially going to your head and melting your brain. Maybe you need to just sleep it off.

As if you could sleep with him inches away when you’re on _fire_.

When you get up to fetch something from your room, you’re acutely aware of the way the seam of your jeans shifts when you walk. Your knees rub together absentmindedly when you stop, sifting through things on your desk. You are very eager to sit back down when you return.

Eventually, finally, he stands and rubs his eyes, pushing his glasses up. “You’re quite an owl, but I’m positively beat. I’m going to turn in for the night.”

“Good night, Jake.”

“Sweetest of dreams to you, Dirk!” He’s so infuriatingly adorable, you’re going to rip your hair out.

Footsteps, down the hall. The sink in the bathroom runs. He brushes his teeth for longer than he needs to (but who’s counting?). The door to your room creaks, shuts. You cannot hear him moving around. You wait exactly thirty three minutes, longer than you need to, just to make sure he won’t come out. Impatient fingers rub your neck, collarbones, jawline every few minutes, grip your knee with thumbs circling. Repeatedly you glance at the time and down the hall, itching.

You stop waiting only because your hands are already sliding up your thighs. Deliberate fingers push under your shirt, splay flat against your stomach. You sigh, imagine similar breath on the nape of your neck. Your muscles twitch.

Guilt tugs at your gut, but you’re not going to be getting anywhere fast if you don’t replace your hands with his. You can’t spend forever here, after all. It’s really unfair; you’re sure Jake gets to jerk it every time he showers and he’s done like that. For you it’s a goddamn scheduled event, mark it on your calendar. Gotta set aside forty-five damn minutes if you _really_ want to feel good, and you’re doing this as quickly as you can tonight.

You take your hand out of your shirt and relocate to the couch. It’s rather indecent to do this on shared space, but it’s technically _yours_ and it’s not like you haven’t jerked it here before. You lie back lengthwise and let one leg fall off the side, the other bent up with your foot pressed against the arm. One hand slides from your hip to the crease of your thigh and torso, fingers pressing close to where you want them. The other travels up your chest to your neck, your jaw, your lips. You leave your shades on- Hal can keep watch for you.

You undo your jeans with one hand, shove them down to your knees and press your fingers against yourself through your boxers. Small repetitive movements at first, slow circles, fingertips, just teasing. If you rush it too much, you won’t get anywhere.

For the sake of getting off you pretend Jake would have some idea of what to do with a vagina. One hand between your legs, light touches making your hips twitch, the other at your lips, coaxing your mouth open so he can play with your tongue. You pretend his teeth are at your throat, grazing and sucking where he unwittingly touched earlier.  

Teasing yourself is _surprisingly_ effective when you pretend it’s him.

He doesn’t give you what you want right away. He wants to hear you say his name, tell him how you want him to touch you (you would if you hadn’t stuffed your knuckles between your teeth to silence yourself). He wants you to _need_ him, to squirm in his arms, you want him to work you up and keep you on edge to make _him_ feel good, make him smile against your throat.

You love projecting your fantasies onto other people. What a stellar friend you are.

But god, pretending it’s him- now that you’ve really seen him, felt his strength- fuck.

You breathe out through your mouth, pull your fingers back and feel the chill of the air on your wet lips. You swallow back the curse that tries to claw out of your throat. You’re exceptionally good at being quiet when you have to be, but it requires you to apply yourself and focus.

Focus, focus.

You press something right and your hips give a firm rock against your fingers. Your spine curves and you imagine Jake pressing you back down, maybe gripping your hips to still them. _Hold still, Strider, you’re wriggling like a fish out of water!_ You wouldn’t say you get off on trying to control the uncontrollable parts of your body, but you kind of _do_ . You forget rather quickly that you’re supposed to be staying still, hips picking up again and falling into a gentle rhythm. Every time you catch yourself you force yourself back down, you take your touch away. He won’t touch you unless you _listen._

Your clit throbs, you push your fingers back into your mouth to shut yourself up and give you tongue something to do other than wish it was in his mouth.

He’d vary his touches, unsure of exactly what feels good to you and trying to figure it out. It keeps you on edge, working you up but not really getting anywhere. The hand you had in your mouth pushes under your waistband, it’s _his_ wet fingers brushing past your clit and feeling how slick you are, pressing like he’s going to slide into you but pulling away.  

The quiet _fuck, Jake_ , that slips past your lips on your breath goes almost unnoticed. You bite your lower lip, shutting any other vocalizations in.

You- he- circles your clit and your lower back lifts off the cushions. Breath catches in your throat and your mouth falls open with a soft huff. Your chin tips back and your eyes flutter shut, and your pulse drums in your temples. Fuck, fuck. You whisper his name again.

Your glasses ping. Eyes slide open to red text.

 

TT: He’s awake.

TT: Going to come get water.

 

For the love of every god ever conceived.

TT: Just fuck me up.

TT: Rest in fuckin’ pieces, bro.

 

Your timing is impeccable. You have your pants buttoned, glasses straight, hands rinsed and are sliding back into your seat at the counter, where you left the day’s project, just as you hear the door open.

It’s hard to keep yourself from trying to press against the stool. Your hair’s fucked up, your heart is still hammering and your face must still be red, but sleepy Jake can’t be very observant if awake Jake can be downright blind.

“Blimey, you’re still up?” His speech is slurred with sleep. He has an empty cup in hand, which he shuffles to the sink with and fills. You shrug, perfectly nonchalant.

 _Almost_ perfectly.

“This is early for me, bro.”

He shakes his head. “Sure, but even you need a good nap now and then.” He makes a vague gesture towards his face. “You’ve got dark circles.”  

“...What.”

He chuckles. “Your sharp spectacles can’t hide them forever, bucko.” You know you have them- the point is that he’s noticed in the few times he’s seen you up close and personal, without your shades. You don’t know what to describe the sudden feeling- it’s not self consciousness, you don’t think…

“See, there you go, getting all spacey. It means you need some shuteye!”

Dismiss him with a wave, look back down at the various parts on the countertop. “The sooner you let me finish my work, the sooner I’ll sleep. How’s that?”

“Alright, alright, I get the message. I’ll bugger off. Night-o.” You mutter your second goodnight and wait until he’s back in your room to push your shades out of the way and bury your face in your palms.

You are still obnoxiously horny, but there’s no way you’re gonna salvage your boner now. Rest in peace your metaphorical dick. Hal offers to give the eulogy. You’ll pass.

Between your legs just feels uncomfortably wet now. You fix yourself up in the bathroom, grumbling because you all really needed was ten more goddamn minutes, tops, and all of your discomfort would be replaced with pleasant fuzziness.

You strip out of your binder and jeans, throw your tank top back on and creep into your room. You dump your clothes on the floor and pick your way around squishy puppets to your bed. Jake is asleep again, and you sigh to yourself before getting into the bed.

Neither of you mind sharing a bed. One of you could, of course, take the couch but it’s not exactly comfortable, even when it’s not covered in your shit. Being messy has its _minor_ drawbacks. You could also alchemize another bed somehow, but you hardly have the space and really, it’s not necessary.  

Your life would be easier if you had separate sleeping arrangements now, though.

You settle down next to him, try not to breathe him in. Failed step one. You turn so your back is facing him and ignore the red blinking on your glasses- Hal can ram whatever dry comment he has up his electronic ass.

At least you’re sleepy now. Your eyes get heavy and you let them fall shut, hoping when you wake up your sexual frustration will have magically disappeared into the night.

 

You have no such luck.

Waking up is not a straightforward process. Your brain is aware of your surroundings before your eyes are ready to open, and all you really feel is heat and solid warmth pressed against you, one arm curled around it, your breath coming hot and just slightly uneven. There’s another rise and fall against your chest, and pleasant solidness between your thighs.

You shift, curling into it more, waver back and forth between sleep and muddled wakefulness for a while. There’s something telling your hips to shift, fuzzy tension between your legs encouraging you to rock down against whatever’s against you.

It’s pleasant, warm.

There’s shifting, gentle pressure on your hip, your waist. Breath that’s not your own attempts to lull you back to sleep. Deep inhale, sigh, mouth open, your spine arcs and pushes you down again-

Your eyes snap open. Jake’s clavicle is right in your line of sight. Every muscle in your body systematically tenses, right on cue. His hand lifts from its path up your ribs the moment he feels you come to your senses. There goes your tiny hope of him still being asleep.

Ohhhhhh _shit_ on your goddamn _dick_.

“Oh shit,” you breathe. Plenty more curses spring to the tip of your tongue, but nothing by way of explanation. You swallow heavily and carefully reign you limbs in, trying hard to ignore the regret of putting distance between the two of you. The regret of waking like this is certainly more persuasive.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, how the fuck do you smooth this over? He probably woke up to you grinding on him- you try really hard to keep the blood from rushing to your face. This situation does not need worsening. You wish you had your shades on- he’s going to see every regret you’ve ever had surfacing on your face like a billboard advertising your shame.

You find you can’t look him in the eye. You glance up, see him biting his lip to keep a shit eating grin off his mug (and failing), then shut your eyes and press the heels of your hands into them. Your brows knit together as you try to string an apology together.

“Top of the morning to you, Dirk! About time you woke up.”

“Fuck. Sorry. _Fuck._ ” It’s about time for you to abscond the fuck out of here and eat shit in the shower, maybe later you can beg him for forgiveness. Figuratively- you don’t fucking beg.

(You would, if he made you- this is not a helpful fucking thought right now.)

“Oh, it’s all ducky. You can be quite cuddly in your sleep, I must say.” He’s teasing you, eyes glinting, but it’s hitting you that he is very pointedly not bringing up the elephant in the room. He’s just going to let it go, breeze over it? What a goddamn angel. “You’re almost more charming when you’re unconscious, maybe you should work on that a bit.”

You groan and bury your face into your pillow. Some angel. You admit he has a right to jab at you like this after what you’ve done.

“Quit moping you big baby. Every healthy young gent has scandalous-” Okay, stop him right there. You shove your pillow in his face, cutting him off with a _doof._

“Most don’t try to get up close and personal with their bro in their _sleep._ ”

He pushes the pillow down so he can look at you, then glances away. He mumbles into the feathers, something you can’t catch.

“What?”

“I...Iwouldn’tsayit _wasn’t_ agoodthing.” You blink, take a moment to process what he said, swallow, feel the back of your neck heating up. Your skin prickles where his hand was a few minutes ago, and for the first time you consider why he was touching you and not pushing you away.

“Oh,” is all you come up with.

He kneads the pillow, mutters something else incomprehensible. His foot rubs against your shin, stops when he realizes you can feel it. You pull the pillow down a little so you can see his face, leaning forward slightly, foreheads almost touching. His eyes slide back to yours and he blinks.

“You have a rather nice pair of peepers.”

You roll your aforementioned eyeballs before refocusing on his. His pupils dilate. You can feel his breath on yours. “Thanks.”

He licks his lips. “...You gonna lay one on me, or-?” You press your lips to his with barely there pressure before he can finish. It sends a jolt through you. His are slightly chapped, but soft, and you feel warmth- a much softer kind- tingling down your spine and settling in your stomach, giving you gentle butterflies. It’s not a feeling you ever thought you’d actually experience outside your own mind.

You pull away for a heartbeat because you don’t know if this is what he really wants. He picks up the slack for you and presses his mouth to yours again. More insistent.

Again, and again. Your hand slides into his hair so you can hold his head where you want it while you mold your lips to his. You are not quite sure what’s happening right now, but like hell you’re not going to roll with it.

He blindly puts the pillow behind him and you take it as an invitation to swing your leg over his hips. You shift so you’re hovering over him and take his face in your hands so you can kiss him for longer. You carefully keep your hips above his, in case you start moving too fast for him.

Which might happen, because every inch of your skin has been ignited since yesterday. You’re probably a little too eager.  

You sigh into his mouth before pulling away, looking down at him with heavily lids. He blinks, then grins up at you, all tousled hair and sparkling eyes and your heart skips a beat.

He steals your breath away, quite literally. You’re way too eager.

He rises and presses lips to your jaw, and you shiver. You stretch your neck for him and he, bless him, catches the hint. His lips are hesitant on your throat at first, but he’s quick to gain confidence. Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue on your adam’s apple, and then he finds your pulse and _sucks._

You moan, full out, then wish you’d better controlled yourself. You try not to show how disappointed you are when he pulls away.

“Gee whiz,” he huffs, voice breathy, “you’re a tad sensitive here, aren’t you?” You snort, ready to leave it at that and move on, but a moment later realization dawns on his face. “That explains yesterday, then…?”

You don’t need him analyzing your behavior over the past twenty-four hours. “Shut up and suck face.”

“More like suck throat,” and then his lips are on your skin again. “I feel like a succubus, come to ravish you in the night. Although, I’m quite sure it was you trying to seduce me all night, wasn’t it?” His eyebrow wiggle is audible.

You try not to laugh. “You need to not be talking- nh.” He gets a little gutsy, pretends to bite your jugular. You don’t know if he expected you to jerk in reaction, but it throws him off. You stroke his hair to assure him it’s fine, that was a good thing _please_ don’t pull away, and at the second scrape of his teeth your breath comes out in a stutter.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Can I leave you with a little reminder or two or-”  

“ _Yes.”_ God, he doesn’t even have to ask (it’s probably a little late anyways), you crave it. You won’t have to worry about hiding marks, you want to see them and you want _him_ to see them. He hums against your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. He works his way down to your clavicle, pauses a moment, then licks a solid line up the column of your throat. You moan again on the exhale and bite your lip.

You’re being overly obvious. You try and tone it down, keep yourself in check, but you’re not doing so well. Especially when he starts feeling you up.

You appreciate that he avoids your chest- take that Hal, he does _not_ like your boobs more than you. Jake’s hands start at your sides, traverse your back- he traces your spine, like he’s counting the vertebrae- and ends at your hips. There’s pressure, he’s coaxing you down. You resist for a moment, but when his teeth press into you again- not biting, just pressing and you wish he’d dig into you already- you _know_ he feels your hips rock, and you let him ease you down.

His mouth goes back down to your collarbones and one hand slides all the way up to the back of your neck. You slide your hands down his chest, feel his spine curve into your touch. His tongue circles every bruise he sucks into your skin, and the air chills when he pulls away. His fingers bypass the hem of your shirt and press into your skin, thumbing the jut of your hipbone and tracing the lines of your stomach, making your muscles twitch.

You duck down and mesh your lips together, keep them parted so you can ease your tongue into his mouth. You trace his lower lip, then the top row of his teeth, then push a little farther. His teeth scrape on accident. You pull back a bit and suck his lower lip into your mouth. Kissing him is messy and unpracticed, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s electric. Even when your eyes open and you find him looking at you like the shithead he is.

You know what you’re doing more than he does, at least.

He smiles at you with kiss swollen lips and places his hand on the side of your neck. His thumb presses into the pulse point under your jaw and your hips shift down, more purposefully than before, a little firmer than when you were half asleep. Jake bucks up to meet you and you finally get a small noise out of him.

You can feel him through your boxers and his, hot and definitely hard and if you shift a little you find you can press down on him directly. Friction is delicious. His pelvis snaps up and pushes a gasp out of your lungs.

Bracing yourself with your palms splayed on his stomach, you push yourself upright. You can’t kiss him, but this position arches your back and makes it much easier to circle your hips.

You’re slick, throbbing and making quiet _nnh_ ’s with every breath. There’s heat in your veins and on your face and in the pit of your stomach. With nothing to do your mouth falls open and you worry you’ll forget to swallow, or start sighing his name, so you take one of his wrists and guide his hand up to your mouth. He cups your cheek and you press your lips to his palm, then his fingertips. Gentle pressure instructs you to part them and you suck on the first few knuckles, eyes trained on his.

He watches you with blown pupils and parted lips and pulls you down into every upward jerk. His fingers press against your tongue while his other hand slides from your hip to the inside of your thigh. Your boxers have ridden up, giving him plenty of room to touch.

You just feel _good._ Both of your movements are slow, sleep clinging to your limbs, and your joints feel like butter. The tension in your abdomen is welcome, contrary to yesterday. Pleasure radiates through you and dopes you up. You almost forget you need to swallow.

You don’t really want to drool all over him, even if it’s pretty representative of how you feel.

“Ah, Dirk-” It’s hardly more than a whisper but it’s music to your ears. “Golly, you’re awfully good at- hm- getting a fellow all worked up.” He wants you, oh he _wants_ you in at least some part of the way you want him and you can see it written on his face, hear it in his voice. You could come just from him saying your name like that.

You did this to him, _ha_ , see how he likes it.

You want him to keep talking. You pop off of his fingers and groan the next time he murmurs your name, give a particularly purposeful roll of your hips. His chin tips back, exposing his neck, and you lean down in time to feel his throat vibrate against your lips when he groans.

He grabs an appropriate handful of your ass and you rock back, circling your hips. You feel him swallow and slide your hands up his stomach, his chest, pushing his shirt up. His muscles spasm under your fingers.

Everything is hot and breathy and a little off rhythm. Everything is exactly what you want.

Jake’s hands on your shoulders encourage you to sit back up. “Get off me, you’re heavy,” he grumbles. You snort and straighten up. He follows you and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. Your legs shift so you’re straddling his thigh, which gives you more to grind on. Nice. You push your hands further up his shirt and he leans away just long enough to let you yank it over his head. _Nice._ You run your hands down his back.

You tilt your head to the side for him when he puts his lips on your shoulder. He kisses all the way up the side of your neck and stops just under your ear. You can feel his teeth scrape your skin on his way back down. It gives you goosebumps. Fuck, you really want his teeth pressing into you, leaving bruises. You don’t think he’ll do it unless you prompt him to, though.

“Jake.” It might be too much to ask of him, but dammit if you’re not going to at least _try._

He lifts off and looks at you. “What is it?”

“I want you to bite me.”

He blinks. “Won’t that hurt?”

Fucking hell. “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

You can see the lightbulb go off in his head. He’s a little hesitant, fingertips tracing where his mouth was moments ago. “Right.”

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. You don’t have to do anything.”

Your attempt at reassurance seems to convince him he can’t back down. “No, it’s all fine and dandy, you egg. Just let me know if I should stop.” You feel his lips on your skin again and slide one hand into his hair, the other on his arm. You close your eyes and sigh, you really really love the way his mouth feels against your skin and you never want him to stop kissing you.

He picks the juncture of your shoulder and your neck and swipes his tongue over your skin before you feel the press of his teeth. It’s gentle for a moment, but he gains confidence a moment later and _bites._

Your hand in his hair tightens and your hips jerk. “Oh fuck yes- fuck-” You cut off as the pain peaks, Jake already gently kissing the area like an apology. You squirm, panting and toes curling and fingers digging into his biceps a little too firmly.

“Wow,” he breathes. He pulls back again, wide eyes trained on your face. “Does it really feel that good to you?”

You let yourself go a little; he wasn’t supposed to be able to unravel you like that. You bury your face in his neck and groan.   

“I’ll take that as an affirmative, Captain.” Fingertips apply gentle pressure to the tender spot. You shiver. “There’ll be bruises,” he observes, as if it’s not intended to make your throat convulse.

“You want to leave more, or?”

He answers by threading his fingers through your hair and using it as a grip to direct you how he’d like- which is exactly what you want him to do, god bless. He tilts your head the other way and gives you a matching set of teeth marks to the ones on your right. Your entire body shudders and your hips pick up the pace again.

You’re ridiculously turned on- you thought it was intense before; now you can feel your pulse in your clit and your boxers are so wet they slide. It chafes a little to grind on him like this, but you’re too hot to care that you’ll be sore later.

One of his hands presses into the small of your back, the other grips your hip so he can use it as leverage to buck against you. The awkward angle doesn’t stop you from acting on how suddenly desperate you are. He nips at your collarbones and your jaw then digs his teeth into your skin again.

He sucks the bruises he’s already left and you lose the last dregs of your composure. “Shit, Jake- fuck fuck, that’s really good _fuck_.” Your nails rake across his shoulders and he winces, but doesn’t let up until you’re practically writhing in his hands. His hips are jerking, he’s practically humping you but you can’t say you’re faring much better. What rhythm you had breaks and you feel him tensing up.

Opened mouth kisses line your jaw until he reaches your mouth. “Dirk,” he’s panting, “I’m- God, fuck I-” His fingers dig into your hips at the same time as his teeth find your shoulder again, and you feel him jerk against you as he comes, shuddering. You’re actually impressed he lasted so long.

In honesty, you’re not going to last much longer. You don’t know what god has decided today is your day, but you think Jake English is miraculously going to make you come the first time he’s ever touched you. You couldn’t even do that.

You try to hold yourself together for as long as you can, waiting for him to collect himself and stroking his hair with one hand. You shove the other between your legs and grind against your fingers instead of him. After a few moments he relaxes against you, dazedly pressing lips and tongue against the marks he’s left on your skin. You wish you could see them.

His hand lazily slides up your thigh and bats yours out of the way. The heat of his palm between your legs makes your breath hitch. He presses in gentle circles and murmurs  meaningless shit about how goddamn hot you are, it shouldn’t make you shiver the way it does. You don’t think you could control your hips anymore if you tried.

“Are you close?”  
“Very,” you gasp, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Don’t stop, please-” You cut yourself off too late, and he snickers something wicked.

“What was that, Dirk?” Fuck, his voice is soft and gravelly and the pressure of his hand has increased and you’d give him anything he asked for right now. The way he says your name makes your head cloud up. You don’t care about a goddamn thing anymore besides him touching you.

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop fuck I’m really close, Jake-”

“Jesus Christ on a stick, Dirk. That’s brilliant.” His nails dig into your hip and you _whine._ You are never going to live this down. Where the hell is he getting all this confidence from, anyways?  
You don’t give a shit because his fingertips are pressing into the wet fabric of your boxers, making you clench down on nothing. You breathe another _please_ into his neck and relish in the way his teeth dig into your shoulder again. Your spine arcs, pressing as much of you as is physically possible against him, and the tension that’s been building in you for over a day finally snaps.

Physical bliss radiates from your core to the tips of your fingers, wipes your brain and replaces everything with fuzzy static. You’re left breathing heavily into Jake’s skin, eyes closed. Everything feels intensely clarified a few moments later, like your lungs have been dusted out and the air has become fresher. The bruises on your neck and shoulders ache warmly, your spine tingles and Jake is solid and warm beneath you.

You half roll off of his lap and flop down onto the sheets, heart still hammering. Everything between your legs is just kind of _slimy_ now, and a little sore- you’re sure it’s going to be worse later. The rest of you, however, feels fucking fantastic and temporarily overrides any discomfort.

Jake settles next to you, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His hair, already bedhead before, is a bird’s nest now. You blink at him, still a little dazed, god he’s so _gorgeous_. You’d kiss him if it weren’t for sudden insecurity; you don’t know where he wants to go with this.

You want him in every goddamn way you can think of, but you doubt you were even remotely on his to-do list for the day, pun intended. It was circumstance. You get it if he wants this to be a one time thing, just conveniently getting your rocks off. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to do it again but wanted to leave things at just this, no more. You don’t dare contemplate beyond that.

Jake snorts. “You’re thinking so hard I can hear it. Save all that hogwash for later, the only thing you should be analyzing is what you want to have for breakfast. I’ve got a hankering for some high class poptarts, I don’t know about you.”

That effectively puts all your trains of thought on hold, stopping them abruptly and leaving you with nothing to do besides look at him. He grins at you, and your heart skips a beat. Fuck.

Your stomach growls, goading you both out of bed. Your knees give a little sway when you get up and you nearly stumble, but you manage to steady yourself in time. Jake swaps his boxers for a clean pair and you shuffle to the bathroom because you find you’d really just like to shower.

You’re quickly sidetracked by your reflection. Maybe you just didn’t _quite_ keep track of how much attention Jake gave your neck, but you’ve bruised like a peach. Your skin is covered in blotches of red and teeth marks that you can’t tear your eyes away from. You run your fingers over them. They don’t even look real, but the ache definitely is.

You left the door open, so Jake can see you staring when he passes by. He pops his head in. “What’re you- oh.” He frowns and rubs the back of his head, apologetic. “I guess I got a little swept away there.”

“No.” You drop your hand and look at him. You feel a little dizzy, he’s so goddamn perfect you might as well just drop the fuck dead right now. “No, it’s perfect.”

What you meant was “it’s fine,” but blunt honesty works too. Your mouth is traitorous.

He comes in, gently reaches out and traces one of the marks on your shoulder like he can’t believe he created them. “They are kind of pretty, actually. But they look like, well, a pain in the neck.”

You rub your face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Yeah, they are, that’s why I asked you for them.”

His mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin. “I didn’t peg you as the kind of guy to have a penchant for pain; to be honest I guess I thought you’d be the other way around.”

That implies he’s thought about this before. “Sorry I don’t live up to your fantasies of me being a raging sadist.”

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. This is much better anyways.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Can I join you in your ablution?”  
You try not to blush. That definitely sets a certain tone for everything. “Yeah.” You push the curtain back and turn the shower on, not as hot as you’d usually set it because you know he doesn’t like the water scalding.

You don’t look at him when you take your shirt off, fearing your feigned confidence will break if you do. You kick your clothes into the corner and step into the spray. The heat relaxes your muscles enough that you don’t feel like holding yourself up.

“You coming?” you prompt, holding the curtain open for Jake. He huffs and steps in, and you know your body is impressive (you’re really fuckin’ hot and you aren’t forgetting it) but he’s really something else.

You’re a little envious, and you’re also a little in love with him.

You scramble to erase that thought from your mind, that’s not allowed and you’ve been through this so many times it shouldn’t be so hard to block that out.

He squeezes the shampoo bottle right over your head, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Would you be so kind as to quit staring at me?”

Right.

“You look so different with your hair down.” His hands are in your hair now- you don’t remember conceding to this, but it feels nice so you’ll let it slide. You don’t miss how he traces over the marks higher on your neck from time to time.

“This is my base state. I don’t reach full potential until every strand of my hair has been carefully sculpted.” You close your eyes so soap doesn’t get in them. You don’t understand why there’s a budding ache in your chest.

When you open your eyes he’s looking right at you.

“Can I kiss you?”

You want to tell him you need to know if he’s just asking this because you fucked him and he’s confusing endorphins for affection. You want to ask him if he wants anything more than physical affection from you. Does he know how you actually feel? Is he doing this out of pity? Does this mean anything to him?

“Yes.”

His lips are soft against yours, shower water running between you and getting in your mouth. You cannot ask him. You are too afraid of letting him know how you feel.

You won’t mind, if the way he kisses you so gently is only because he’s worn out. You won’t mind if he’s only showering with you because he’s Jake and he’s oblivious to everything. You won’t mind if he’s going to keep having sex with you and never give you anything else. Even if this is how things are, some part of him is yours. There’s a hickey just above his left collarbone, it’s yours, you made it.

It’s nowhere near a fair exchange when he holds everything you are, but it doesn’t matter. You practically let him bruise his name into your skin. It doesn’t matter.

He shares cinnamon poptarts and orange juice with you and texts Jane while trying to talk to you at the same time, and you try not to feel guilty because you know how much she likes him. How much more she deserves him than you do. You try not to be jealous when you just got to hear him moan your name in your bed.

Jake doesn’t love you like you do him and you know that. The idea that you might be able to get him to love you in some way somehow convinces you that this was a good idea. Because you’re a genius. Your plans never fail. You know what you’re doing.

He grins at you, for the billionth time in his life, from behind his glass of juice. Your heart still skips a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> was totally gonna color their text then 4got lmao


End file.
